Garters And Gaskets: Frontier Frolics Of Clint And Annie
by Quillon42
Summary: Envisions an ending most pleasant and sensuous for the two main heroes of Wild Guns (original version on SNES and such); Annie and Clint seek shelter during their return from victory, and the former decides she wishes to reward the latter through means far softer and sweeter than that which is won through steam and steel.


GARTERS AND GASKETS: WILD FROLICS ON THE FRONTIER WITH GUNS CLINT AND ANNIE

By Quillon42

Verily the quantum of destruction was such that this little allotment of America would have to undergo its own second Reconstruction in earnest. This was unfortunately the price of peace, yet the people of the beleaguered burg of Carson City would have had to pay far higher had the evils of the vicinity had had their way.

Presently the proud paladin called Clint surveyed the purlieu of the plateau which he and his fairest frau of a fellow fighter Annie would have to traverse. Both had just erased so efficiently that scarlet varmint answering only to the handle of The Kid, he who done captured and ruptured the mortal coils of all whom the ravisheress in rose had regarded fondly as family.

Through tandem efforts, the cogs, gaskets, and all other ingredients of insidiousness within those machines most infernal of the enemy had been all but disassembled most dramatically. What lay ahead of the enforcers, concerning this land fraught with law flouters, was now likely an honorary ceremony by the mayor of Annie's pyrite-permeated podunk, he gleefully deeming the homecoming couple of cur-curtailing cowpeople as heroes of the municipality.

Yet a reward much more immediate and intimate was in store for the tattered tough guy gliding on horseback alongside his sexiest sixgun.

It was nightfall, and the tired ruffian rustlers found they needed to turn in somewhere soon.

Nothing save the husk of that looming maroon locomotive the duo had disabled was in sight. Ruined yet somewhat roomy seemed the execrated engine, its now-hollowed frame looking to afford an impromptu roof over both the Westerners' heads for an evening.

Within only a mite bit of minutes, a hatless Clint lay at the interior of the vaunted vehicle's nose while Annie doffed her own salmon sombrero and set it down to flop upon her fellow gunner's own fedora of the frontier. Then shot out a glare from her penny-tinted irises that penetrated through the man with a warmth greater than any trudging tank's fearsome flamethrower.

"Ah must confess Ah'm rather famished," she began, maintaining her resolute stance and stare.

"There's some hominy in the remains'a my greatcoat y'all can have, if yer fixin' fer vittles…"

"Naw, Clint…"

And then Ann expanded the territory between her feet, parting her pink skirts all the more, permitting her compadre to view the glory of bare fair legs running longer than the trajectory of a Penn and Teller autobus cruising through the desert from Tucson to Las Vegas.

And now Las Legas of the lady were quavering as the maiden made her way to the side of the sentinel what helped her vindicate the loss of her loved ones.

"It's been so long since Ah've known any kind of love at all, since mah relations were run aground. Th'tough stuff's been done now…n' Ah need…a certain kinda comfort…"

In the brazen moonlight glowing through the abandoned engine, Clint could now see panties of a fandango hue hovering before him, as well as a bubblegum-colored garter encircling the heights of her left lower limb. He then quickly looked away, but at that exact instant Annie gripped his shoulder with a gloved hand, she simultaneously shucking down the other velvety hand covering with a certain urgency.

He hushed off the other gossamer glove while she hoisted her damask dress over her head. Before she could even hook her thumbs around the rouge skivvies clinging to her shapely hips, Clint was already kissing at the insides of her crème-chiffon thighs, his hands scrabbling for a certain important sheath within the interior of his upper apparel. With the grittiest of teeth he tore down the tiny knickers, his parched tongue assaulting her vault wreathed in follicles of bullion. As his mouth continued to work so wildly into the depths of her Desolation Canyon, Annie sounded above:

"Unhhh Clint ye' happen t'be handlin' a mine cart to…mmmmm…process yer prospectin?"

"Ah've…ah've got muh Magenta Magnum…hhhhh…a vair'table Armored Train itself…right on here in my holster."

"Sss…sss…saddle 'er up, then…"

His perspiring palms found purchase upon the pearlescent spheres of her satiny ass, pressed those two alabaster orbs tightly as he then orally caressed the porcelain prairie of her soft, smooth belly. Once he plundered the dainty doline of her lovely navel, the man made north upon the precious parcel of the plains princess's figure.

Settling hard was his latex amaranth stagecoach against her glamorous left gam as he then pioneered upon the erotic areolaed aretes of her magnificent massive buttermilk breasts. Carefully Clint clamped down upon her right erogenous ridge with lips and teeth pulled back so as not to bite, but rather to embrace with tenderer maw.

At this junction the hardy hero hurled his razzmatazz lariat into the deeps of her congenital cenote, at that precise moment his lover crushing against and rassling him down so that she ruled over him reverse cowgirl. For a beat he held his hands against her throbbing ruby heels, then lay his meathooks upon her buffest buttocks as Ann commenced to course upon him.

In a rhapsodic rhythm the two rode, Clint's beryl bandoliered sidling steel skeleton infiltrating Annie's Ammunition Depot, his soaring violet spiny Crystalien searing through her most solemn Saloon.

Together they peppered one another with passionate thrusts, she who was mostly flowing in fuchsia but now nearly naught but flaxen and flesh taunting her beau and his floating gatling drone.

"Get up on and git now, Clint," goaded the cheeky courtesan in carnation as she galloped all the harder upon her lover's metallic cerise crustacean. "Am I dealing with a Dungeness, or a dud? You slingin' a Vulcan Cannon, or a piddlin' Pop Gun?!"

As such Clint hustled his raspberry roan all the harder through her most grateful gulch, and after so much as a showdown ten-count the telltale "Look Out!" verbal balloons appeared above both their heads, so as to signal each's arrival at a station of such sensuous release.

Thence as Clint emerged within Annie, each osmosed an impulse the magnitude of napalm from their nooky, their innards exploding with utter arousal.

EPILOGUE

Many hours following the city limits lay before them.

"Annie…I know you suffered an incredible loss…

"And with respect to those who passed…

"It would be an honor to be…"

She stopped him with a gloved hand, then leaned across the horse space to kiss him deeply.

"Yes…I accept."

He then abruptly presented her with a ring containing a diamond most dazzling.

"Clint! This has got to be pricier than a complete-in-box Natsume game! _Shadow of the Ninja_…n' _SCAT_…(not to mention effing _Wild Guns _itself)…"

"Well, I guess I'm just the D-Bag with the G-Bags…skibbedy bop bop dobuddy dah dah dah."

Ann cringed playfully at Clint's own SCATting, which was worse than those of the _Full House_ theme song and Rich from Reviewtech combined. Yet they knew both that they were about to become a two-person posse, wrangling their nightly trysts for a long time to come.


End file.
